


I got debts that no honest man can pay

by myhappyface



Category: Luther (TV)
Genre: Consensual Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-04
Updated: 2012-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-30 14:57:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/332988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhappyface/pseuds/myhappyface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After 2x02, Ripley looks for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I got debts that no honest man can pay

**Author's Note:**

> Contains consensual violence between adults for purposes of therapy when one party really ought to just see a doctor maybe. Also, American writing a British show without a Britpicker. FOR APIPHILE, GODDAMN IT.

The laundered jumper, now free of blood and sweat and the stink of fear, still looks faintly like a mustard accident. Ripley holds it like a shield in front of him. Every day he wakes up is one further from pissing himself in a sewer and wondering how many pieces he'd be in when Cameron gave him back to Luther, and despite the ugly scar on his side he seems to be doing well, except he can't sleep and he can't fuck and he is, he thinks, actually losing his mind. 

A grown man shouldn't go into cold sweats and the shakes because he's got a leaky shower faucet.

Luther ends his call with a sigh and looks to Ripley, to the jumper, back to Ripley. 

"You didn't need to have it cleaned," he says, and smiles a little.

"I thought about buying a replacement, but apparently they stopped making these in the nineties, who was to know. I feel like," he says, before Luther can respond, "I feel like getting a drink. Can I buy you one?"

Luther says, "By all means," and rubs his hands together, remembering too late, judging by the brief wince, that one of them is still injured. 

Instead of the pub they've been to a few times before, Ripley takes advantage of Luther passive in the passenger seat and steers them to the hotel room he booked a few hours ago, when the end of their shift was drawing down and no call had come in from megalomaniacal international criminals spouting bullshit philosophy meant to hide what they were really about (blood, or money, or both).

Ripley doesn't drink to get drunk, just to get steady enough to tell Luther what he wants. He gets up from the fold-out table and goes to one knee at Luther's feet. Luther looks curious, something wide awake in his sleepy eyes. 

When he comes out with it, when he says he hasn't been able to have sex since Cameron took him, because he keeps thinking of a rope around his neck and not knowing, not knowing if the next breath was coming, that he can't stand lying to another stranger about his broken dick, Luther looks like he was expecting it. Sherlock Holmes in a loose red tie, fucking impossible to surprise.

He takes Luther's free hand and puts it at his neck, so that Luther's wrist is right by his mouth. 

"Justin--"

" _Boss_ ," he says, sees Luther likes that and so says it again, and his pride is gone, but he's in Luther's hands, not always a safe place to be but always a certain one.

Ripley drops some sachets of lubricant onto the table.

"This is what I need from you," Ripley says. "This is all I need from you here."

The room is cold enough he can see his breath in the air, which as proof that he is here, that they are both here, he likes, but as a temperature is exhausting. Luther nods, and stands, and pulls Ripley up abruptly. He gathers up the sachets of lube and walks Ripley, backwards, to the bed.

Luther takes Ripley's belt out of the loops but doesn't throw it aside, wraps it around his fist instead. Ripley turns to face the bed and Luther binds Ripley's wrists behind his back. He tells Ripley to turn around in his normal tone of voice, which surprises Ripley and doesn't suprise him, because John is always _John_.

Then Luther's asking if he's sure and stepping back when Ripley nods. Luther hits him so fast Ripley never sees it coming, doesn't have time to anticipate, can only lean into it. Luther grips him by the hair and yanks his head up, bares his throat as Ripley searches for air, holds him in place for the second, third, fourth punches. Luther's calm breathing, Luther asking if he's sure once more before breaking open Ripley's face with the fifth. He rubs his thumb over Ripley's split lip so the blood smears and the sting flares out.

Ripley knows he's been hurt worse before but does not, at that moment, really _believe it_. He can feel the blood sliding between his teeth and down his throat and _wants_ , suddenly, finds the place in him that has been cold and silent for weeks clamoring for more.

Luther says _good boy_ and drives him over to the bed by his hair, the sharp pain a counterpoint to the dull throb in Ripley's abdomen. Luther undoes Ripley's flies and tugs his trousers down to his knees, pushes his pants down, pushes him to kneel on the bed. He leaves him there long enough that Ripley is uncomfortable, anticipating Luther's weight on him like he hadn't had time to do with the hits.

Luther doesn't try to warm the lube after he spills it over his fingers, a chill pushing for admittance. Luther pries him open with competence, without elegance. Ripley's breath comes faster as he tries to think of something other than the discomfort and the cold, Luther's strong fingers and that curious touch, the strain in his thighs and chest as he tries to balance with his arms awkwardly pinned. His face aches.

Behind him, Luther presses closer, pushing into Ripley slowly and unstoppably. Ripley hears the ragged sounds of his own breathing. Luther has a steady hand on his hip and his shoulder. The first moves burn, and burn, and burn, and Luther makes a surprised _Oh_ when Ripley spreads his legs a little further and leans forward to let his shoulders take the weight. The cold pillow casing is a comfort to the ache in his face, and he pushes into it as Luther jerks Ripley's cock with his slick hand.

Luther's breathing changes for the first time as Ripley shudders, Luther gripping his hips tighter and pulling him closer, pulling him up so that Ripley's bound arms are pressed to Luther's chest. Luther holds him in place with a firm hand at his throat, not quite tight enough to cut off the air, nowhere near loose enough for comfort. His other hand is compressing over and pushing at the bruise on Ripley's side, near the cauterized hole Cameron had left on him. Luther's fingers stutter over it and he bites down on Ripley's ear, a rush of pain running through the ache. Luther's hands clench when he comes.

When he undoes the belt, blood spreads back through Ripley's arms like a burn, and Ripley tips forward. His arms buckle, but he doesn't want to lay his face on the blood-smeared pillow case, so he rolls over, belly up. He touches the red on his throat. Luther lays on his side beside him, cupping Ripley's soft cock with a posessive hand, and for a moment they exist quietly, in warmth.


End file.
